Fake Shenanigans and Red Glitter

Great show yesterday kid. In the hills above Drumquin, the lime kiln men listened to the great show before hibernating for the Winter. To the shouts and yells of, "Goodnight, Jim Bob, Goodnight Pio McSpalter, Goodnight John boy!" the lime kiln men climbed into tea chests, pulled straw over them and went to sleep. When they awake, on the 20th of March, they will be spoonfed royal jelly and the soft flesh of American pumpkins. May the good Lord protect them from hungry bears and frustrated spinsters. Tommy my cat, poster boy for Lyles' granulated sugar, hung his little, blue blazer up on the hook of a song that was playing on the radio and said, "Rambling Joe Mahon must know every road, lane and short cut in Ulster." "Rubbish!" I roared. "The wandering Joe lies sleeping in the back of a UTV, people carrier, after a feed of hotdogs, Muller yogurt and jelly babies. Joe has no idea where he is! He is hauled out of the back seat, plopped down in the middle of rushy ground, handed a microphone and told to get on with it." "The fake, sham, shennigans behind television programmes," said Tommy,"leads me to believe that Jedward may well be cartoon characters." "Of course they are!" I cried. "No human twins could look like THAT!" "I was listening to the lovely Karen Patterson read the six o'clock news. Karen was reporting on Jim Allister's shambolic attempt to jump over the river Boyne dressed as Lord Carson. Suddenly, Tommy my cat rushed in, grabbed the radio, held it high above his head and smashed it on the floor. "I interrupt this programme," yelled Tommy, "to bring you some, breaking news! A weather warning, just issued, has warned the public about fierce turbulence round the back of Tubby Nolan's massive trousers. Motorists, are advised to avoid the area, BUT, if caught in the turbulence, stay in the car and pray." "The tail end of Hurricane Sandy?" I cried. "NO!" roared Tommy, "The tail end of Tubby Nolan!" Two hours later Tommy looked at me, as I stood there wearing a sheepfarmer's body warmer and red, sparkling knickers. "So," said Tommy, "you are determined to go to the Halloween party, dressed as the overweight Lady Gaga?" "Yes, I is," I replied as I pulled the phone off the wall and glued it to my head. "You look-awful!" said Tommy. "You look like Tubby Nolan in drag. How did you get your bust so big?" "Turnips!" I cried. "Two huge turnips painted in delicate skin tones." "You'll be rumbled," said Tommy. "This whole Lady Gaga malarky is going to end in tears." "Utter rubbish!" I replied, as I sailed off into the night with my red knickers glinting under the street lights. OH, the disgrace! Brought home by Matt Baggott and two of his, left, but came back coppers. Tommy, wearing a lovely, paisley dressing gown, stood at the top of the stairs, arms folded and said. "Well, well, well! If it isn't Lady big gub! What happened? Come on, spit it out. Don't just stand there like a witch with an itch." "I was-mugged!" I shrieked. "Mugged, by a gang of little hoodies. They stole my turnips and, right in front of my eyes, hollowed them out and made two horrible macabre, diabolical faces." "Go to bed," said Tommy, "and I'll bring you up a nice cup of diluted, foam rubber. It's supposed to be good for shocks." I pulled the phone off my head and screamed, "I shall never sleep-AGAIN! I was, molested. I got a horrible molestation!" "What on earth did they DO?" cried Tommy, turning pale under the brilliant light of a 5 watt light bulb. I wrung my hands. When the sound of the bells had died down I said, "Oh Tommy, one of the little hoodies, took out a trowel and-and-and........" "Yes? Yes?" Said Tommy. "What did the little hoodie do with the trowel?" I stood there, wild eyed, knees knocking, hot flushes running all over my face, mouth agape and screamed, "The little hoodie scraped all the glitter off my red knickers with the trowel!" Then I collapsed in a twisted, ugly heap. Tommy put on a dear stalker hat, put a pipe in his mouth, began to play the fiddle and said, "Now, what would a little hoodie want with red glitter at this time of night? Something is afoot. Something deep and dangerous is going on. I sense the hand of Professor Moriarty in this!" And before I could stop him, Tommy ran out the door, leaped into a hackney coach and disappeared into the fog. I lay crying into the sheepskin rug. Than the rug said, "BAA!" and ran into the scullery.